


Until The Morning Light

by RainbowWhale (WingedWhale)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Feels, Humour, M/M, Sherstrade, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 17:22:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingedWhale/pseuds/RainbowWhale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock goes to Greg on the eve before The Fall. Sherstrade</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until The Morning Light

**Author's Note:**

> For all of my Sherstrade shipping sisters on Tumblr!

There were thirteen possibilities of what could happen when he confronted Moriarty. None of them were pleasant. He knew damn well that it was quite likely he’d be forced to dismantle Moriarty’s network piece by piece by himself after spectacularly faking his death. He’d be but a ghost, a shadow in the darkness, a nameless spectre of a man, always one step ahead of his quarry. And in time, he’d stamp out any and all remaining threats that were connected with Jim Moriarty. Provided he didn’t get killed in the process, of course.

            Sherlock _knew_ he couldn’t tell John about what might happen. Considering the case with the cab driver (and that alone after John only knew him for a couple of days) Sherlock knew John would be too loyal, too blinded by messy sentiment to see things clearly. The army doctor would inevitably try to find him. Try to contact him. Would try to make Mycroft tell him where he was. And well, they couldn’t have that, now could they?

            So he would not tell John a word of what he feared would happen. His friend would be safe as he mourned his death. He’d be protected by his ignorance and perhaps if things went as planned and Sherlock was able to return to England, he could somehow get the man to understand why he’d done everything. And even if John Watson refused to forgive him, the man he’d called his only true friend would still be alive. That was enough. At least where the army doctor was concerned.

            However, John was not the only person he had to consider. Which is why Sherlock stood outside the door to a mid-class flat, and odd and unfamiliar twinge in  his chest as he raised his hand to knock. He rapped smartly on the wood and swallowed in nervous anticipation. He could already feel the increase in his heart rate that signaled a flood of cortisol into his bloodstream. It was all he could do to internally force himself to clamp down on the ugly head of his emotion and not give in to the terrible impulse to flee.

            Fortunately he didn’t have to contemplate the intensity of his anxiety for much longer because the door opened to reveal a certain dark eyed, silver haired Detective Inspector. The older man raked his gaze over him, arching an eyebrow at Sherlock’s uncharacteristically tense features. He narrowed his eyes at the taught lines of his face, looking straight into Sherlock’s eyes and the obvious unease that the consulting detective knew could be seen in them.     

            Silently, Greg Lestrade stepped back and held the door open for Sherlock to step through into the flat, his eyes piercing into Sherlock’s back as he pushed the door closed behind them.

            Sherlock turned back to face him, and in that one singular moment as he looked at Lestrade, he truly and utterly loathed Jim Moriarty with every fiber of his being. He forced himself to hold the Detective Inspector’s gaze, though in so doing he felt an sharp burning, slicing, pricking pain right down into the marrow of his very soul. He almost laughed. For truly it was almost comical, wasn’t it? After all his years of vehement denial it would appear that he actually did possess a very human heart. Well look at that, who knew?

            Still neither of the two men had spoken a word. Sherlock’s processed every detail he experienced at a million miles a second. He allowed the image of Lestrade’s deep brown eyes so bright with concern burn into the wall of his mind palace. Then at last he broke the silence.

            “Grant,-“

            The DI shot him a look. “It’s _Greg_ , though I suppose at this stage I should give up on correcting you.” The DI cocked his head, scrutinising Sherlock wearily. “You’ve _never_ once used my first name in all the years I’ve known you. Sherlock, what’s the matter? I swear to fucking Christ, if you don’t tell me what the hell is wrong with you right now-”

            “I might have to leave England tomorrow . . . _Greg_.”

            The consulting detective watched as Lestrade’s brow furrowed even more.

            “O-oo . . . k-kay?” Lestrade drew the word out quizzically. “What of it? Why do you look like you’re afraid the world’s about to end or something?”

            “ _Because I might not ever come back_ ,” Sherlock said just loud enough for Lestrade, _Greg_ , to hear.

            Lestrade blinked rapidly as he gave the consulting detective a long hard look.

            “I . . . I don’t understand.”

            “There are thirteen possibilities, Greg. Several of them include me faking my death along with the help of my brother and Molly Hooper. Moriarty has operatives all over the globe. Unless each and every last one of them is eliminated . . . those around me will be in constant imminent danger until such time as our defences slip and his assassins succeed in successfully targeting their quarry. John, Margaret Hudson, and you will all be taken from me if I do not take measures to head Moriarty’s men off at the pass, all the while working under the pretense that I’m dead.”

            Lestrade remained stonily silent for several long seconds before letting out a great shuddering exhalation.

            “Maybe . . . maybe it won’t come to that.”

            Sherlock looked into the depths of the older man’s eyes and gave a sad attempt at a placating smile.  “You know as well as I do the odds aren’t in my favour.”

            “Sherlock . . . “ Greg said softly. And in all of his years of life the great consulting detective had never heard such a powerful and evocative pronunciation of those two familiar syllables.

            Tentatively, Sherlock took a step closer to Lestrade.

            “I . . . couldn’t bear . . . couldn’t bring myself . . . to let you think I was dead. Because as much as I care for John, and Mrs. Hudson, and Molly, . . . I . . . “ Sherlock swallowed convulsively as his voice began to tremble. He looked away then, staring at some unspecific spot on the tan carpet beneath his feet. “I care for you the most of all.” He tried to ignore the sharp stab of pain lancing through his chest as he refocussed his gaze on Lestrade and saw how bright the DI’s chocolate coloured eyes had become. Knowing full well the shiny glint was due to unshed tears of emotion, something he normally would have physically bolted from at the very first indication, Sherlock took yet another step closer. Lestrade let out a shaky exhalation.

            “It seems I should have better heeded your warning to me,” said Greg quietly.

            “I did tell you the worst thing you could possibly do to yourself was fall in love with me. I know. But if it’s any consolation, you aren’t the only one who didn’t listen to logic.”

            Greg looked up and gave Sherlock a rueful smile. “I honestly don’t know what to say.”

            Sherlock drew closer still until he was a mere hand’s breadth away from Greg’s body.

            “You needn’t say anything,” Sherlock whispered, leaning in close to skim his lips over the shell of Greg’s ear. “Take me to bed, _Lestrade_ ,” Sherlock said, dropping his voice into a throaty aurally sinful purr. “Please, just take me to bed and make me forget about tomorrow _._ All that matters is the here and the now and me feeling your hardened cock buried deep within my arse as you fuck me into oblivion.”

            The consulting detective watched with a hooded gaze as the DI’s expression quickly shifted into a heated look brimming with sexual hunger. Suddenly catching Sherlock around the waist, Greg settled his hands on Sherlock’s lean hips as he crushed his lips over Sherlock’s perfect Cupid’s bow of a mouth with searing intensity. Sherlock’s hands snatched at Greg’s neck, steadying himself against the other man as the detective inspector drove him backwards against the wall with a loud resounding thump. They gasped in unison as their mouths ground together in echo of their mounting physical need. Greg tongued the interior of the consulting detective’s mouth and Sherlock gave him a breathy moan in return as he opened his mouth wider to accept the DI’s demanding ministrations. Their breaths mingled into harsh sounds of feverish panting.

            Lips never breaking contact, the pair shifted away from the wall as Sherlock manoeuvered his way backwards in the direction of the DI’s bedroom. Lestrade dominated control over the kiss, his quick and clever tongue delving deep into the wet heat of Sherlock’s mouth. He helped steer Sherlock towards the bedroom, aligning their bodies so that Sherlock could feel the pressure of his quickly stiffening shaft against his thigh. Sherlock’s hands tightened convulsively around Lestrade’s neck. The DI turned up the intensity of the kiss to maximum magnitude, openly fucking Sherlock’s mouth with rough strokes of his tongue. Sherlock eagerly met his movements, biting playfully at Lestrade’s lips as the DI lifted his tongue temporarily before diving it down with aggressive force.

            At last they found themselves just outside the door of Lestrade’s bedroom. They paused for breath and to finally discard each other’s clothing. Greg’s hands flew to Sherlock’s silk shirt, deftly undoing the silver buttons with remarkable speed.  Lestrade nearly tore the silk from Sherlock’s shoulders in his eagerness to get the garment off of the consulting detective’s body. Sherlock had already worked Lestrade’s belt buckle free. He gently stroked the tight bulge at the front of Lestrade’s trousers with a long and nimble index finger. Sherlock smirked darkly as he heard the other man’s breath hitch. Without further preamble, he let down the zip and eased the trousers down his hips. The DI obliged him by stepping out and quickly reaching down to divest himself of his socks as well. He pulled off his pants before standing up and turning his attention to Sherlock’s trousers. The consulting detective merely lifted an eyebrow in sinful invitation as Lestrade’s hands freed the first two buttons of Sherlock’s black trousers to discover that he wore nothing at all beneath them. Lestrade gave one little flirtatious stroke of Sherlock’s impressive erection. He watched with a triumphantly wolfish grin as Sherlock’s eyes fluttered closed before he all but yanked the expensive trousers from the consulting detective’s hips. They landed in an unceremonious heap on the floor of the corridor and Sherlock sidestepped out of them.  Sherlock then bent down once more to rid himself of his socks, smiling delightedly as he watched Lestrade’s thick cock twitch as his face passed close to his groin in the action of standing back up. Sherlock’s hands went to help lift the hem of Lestrade’s cotton tee and as soon as the other man was free of the garment, Sherlock took the clothing from him and threw it carelessly across the hall.

             Clothing taken care of, Lestrade wasted no time in recapturing Sherlock’s kiss-swollen lips. He nudged Sherlock backwards with a gentle yet firm push of his knee.  He traced the outline of Sherlock’s lips with his tongue, in an achingly slow action of erotic play. His movements were sure and confident, yet nearly tenderly languid. It was all Sherlock could do to surrender himself with a little guttural exclamation of pleasure and tilt his head back even farther as the DI followed one slow lascivious lick with another and another. He smiled like the Devil himself as Sherlock groaned shamelessly against his lips. A wave of unadulterated carnal ecstasy shot down Sherlock’s spine like a rocket. He shuddered violently causing the DI’s hands to squeeze against his hips in order to hold him steady.

            Lestrade captured Sherlock’s lower lip between his teeth and worried it in his mouth. Sherlock curled his fingers against Lestrade’s scalp. After another two steps into the room, Lestrade nudged Sherlock backwards suddenly, grinning against his lips as the two men toppled onto the bed together. Lestrade then proceeded to lick and bite his way down Sherlock’s body, laving a glistening stripe down the side of the consulting detective’s neck against his pulse. Sherlock writhed beneath the detective inspector, grinding himself wantonly against Lestrade’s erection as he opened his legs and hooked his heels against the small of the DI’s back. Lestrade gave a low laugh against Sherlock’s creamy skin before taking the other man’s left nipple gently between his teeth. He tugged slightly and Sherlock let out a sharp gasp. Lestrade suckled the hardened nub with avid interest and Sherlock dug his fingernails into the other man’s scalp. The DI withdrew his mouth a centimeter away from Sherlock’s chest and blew softly over the puckered flesh.  The consulting detective bucked and moaned deeply. His rich baritone dropped into an impossibly low range, the resonant sound traveling from Lestrade’s ears and going straight to his prick. His body went taught as his shoulders twitched as a wave of heavy need travelled down his back like an erotically charged lightning bolt. He rolled his shoulders a time or two before he returned his attention to his task of teasing Sherlock’s body with his mouth. He licked, sucked and nibbled his way to Sherlock’s right nipple. He laved the flesh worshipfully, smiling against the other man’s skin as the man beneath him began to pant in heady anticipation.

            Sherlock dug his heels into Lestrade’s flesh, allowing his hips to fall open invitingly. Lestrade’s hands finally settled on Sherlock’s cock and balls, his touch whisper soft and more than gently teasing.

            The great consulting detective exhaled a sharp mewling cry, and Lestrade smiled in proud satisfaction. It took an experienced touch to reduce Sherlock Holmes to such a state. Lestrade then reached over to the nightstand drawer and pulled out a large tube of personal lubricant. For a brief moment the DI rocked back to sit on his haunches and pour a generous amount onto the first two fingers of his right hand. He looked down at the reddened flush of Sherlock’s aroused body and whispered, “You really are the most beautiful thing in all the world.”

            Sherlock let out a little snort. “Mm yes, _I know_.”

            Lestrade rolled his eyes and chuckled softly. He then stood up off the bed and took Sherlock by the hand and pulled him into a sitting position at the edge of the mattress. A split second later, Lestrade dropped gracefully to his knees on the floor. Sherlock stared down at him his eyes glittering with passion and no small amount of genuine emotion that neither of them wished to mention. At least not now.

            Lestrade placed a reverent kiss to the base of Sherlock’s cock and snaked his lubed hand around to slowly slide a slicked index finger into the heated channel of Sherlock’s arse. Sherlock twitched spasmodically, every nerve fiber in his body jumping to attention. Lestrade smoothly licked a path along the base of Sherlock’s cock. He smiled and let out a pleased sound as the consulting detective’s long member jerked to maximum attention when he tongued the throbbing vein beneath his glans. Lestrade’s questing finger pushed deeper, making Sherlock suck in a sharp breath that ended into a surprising high pitched whimper.

            It was in that instant that Lestrade sealed his lips around the crimson head of Sherlock’s hard member. He then slid his finger all the way up the consulting detective’s arse. Sherlock trembled violently, his toes curling in sharp un-diluted pleasure. Lestrade sucked at the pre-come pooling at the tip of Sherlock’s cock as if it was the world’s most divine tasting ambrosia. He then bobbed his head down and took Sherlock’s length fully into his throat, expertly slackening his jaw. His right hand played at teasing the channel of muscle encircling his probing finger. He stroked in time to his movements up and down the consulting detective’s shaft. Lestrade soon added his middle finger along with the first, earning himself a long and husky moan that was the sole most erotic noise he’d ever heard in his entire life. The DI curled his fingers around Sherlock’s body, driving the tips of his fingers deep enough to skim against Sherlock’s prostate. Sherlock’s body drew taught, the muscles of his neck standing out in stark relief as he threw his head back and shouted the Detective Inspector’s surname to the ceiling.

            “LeSTRADE!” he cried, his voice crescendoing as the DI stretched his lips around his length nearly close enough to brush flush against the very base of his cock. Lestrade hollowed his cheeks and sucked in earnest determination as he finger fucked the consulting detective mercilessly. Sherlock quickly found an equable rhythm. He rocked his pelvis forward as Lestrade swallowed him down and drove his body back to impale himself on the man’s skillful fingers.

            Within a few minutes, Sherlock was close to one of the more truly mind blowing orgasms he could readily remember. The men’s movements increased in speed and the DI slipped his ring finger in beside his other two, jabbing at Sherlock’s erogenous zone in counter rhythm to the forward slide of his face along his cock. Sherlock rutted against his mouth in what soon became a nearly aggressive rhythm, forcibly impaling himself on Lestrade’s talented hand after every forward thrust.

            The DI could feel the approach of Sherlock’s orgasm and he growled, the sound coming from deep within his chest as Sherlock shoved himself down on his three fingers. Suddenly Sherlock’s body snapped ramrod straight and he ejaculated hot jets of semen down the detective inspector’s throat. Lestrade swallowed as quickly and neatly as he could manage. He came off  Sherlock’s softening cock and licked fastidiously at the corner of his mouth to catch a dribble of come before it was able to run fully down his chin. Trembling like a leaf in the breeze before a storm Sherlock took hold of the DI’s left wrist and tugged the man up into a slow and sensuous kiss. Their movements were slow and unhurried as Sherlock licked at Lestrade’s tongue and the sharp tang of his own taste in the other man’s mouth.

            Sherlock nipped at Lestrade’s lips playfully before breaking the kiss to look down at the detective inspector’s now almost painfully erect cock.

            “Give it to me. Give it to me good and rough, Lestrade. Just they way I like it.”

            “Assume the position, my love,” Lestrade breathed against Sherlock’s ear. Sherlock’s chest tightened at the DI’s last words. He looked into the older man’s dark brown eyes, _really looked_ , hoping his own reflected the proper emotions he wanted the detective inspector to see. Sherlock felt something in his body break, something deep and unspecific, though awe inspiring powerful in its strength. His breath caught in his throat he beheld the silver haired DI, so strikingly handsome and so full of that attribute people referred to as _heart_. And somehow, against all odds, this man, with his confidence and easy demeanor had managed to help Sherlock find his own heart. It now swelled with unspoken emotion as Sherlock leaned forward and kissed the DI once softly before obligingly turning onto his stomach upon the mattress.

            The policeman straddled the consulting detective, settling his knees on either side of Sherlock’s hips. He leant down and placed a sound kiss against the back of Sherlock’s neck. Lestrade then used his right hand to guide himself to Sherlock’s slickened entrance. He pressed in and Sherlock raised his hips up off the bed groaning appreciatively as the DI’s hard length slid home. The Yarder had an impressive girth and they both stilled momentarily as Sherlock adjusted to the intrusion.

            When Lestrade began to move he rolled his hips forward in a slow languorous motion. Sherlock got onto his hands and knees and pushed back until Lestrade was buried up to the very root of his cock.. His hands curled around Sherlock’s hips, the DI very slowly increased the force and velocity of his rhythm. Sherlock rammed himself backwards every time the other man snapped his hips forward so that each thrust was as deep as possible. The angle Sherlock achieved by pushing back on hands and knees allowed the tip of Lestrade’s shaft to rub his prostate. The consulted detective let loose a strangled wail, and the DI a deep rumbling groan, having achieved maximum contact. Sherlock reached back and tugged on Lestrade’s left wrist, showing off his impressive flexibility by twisting his torso around and bending his neck to meet Lestrade in a hot and needy kiss.

             “Come on now, _Detective Inspector,_ show me what you’ve really got.” Sherlock said huskily. Lestrade responded with an especially sharp thrust and Sherlock let out an incredibly loud, incredibly deep appreciative hum.

            Lestrade quickly began to rut against Sherlock with decidedly more _enthusiastic_ speed and force. He tightened his grip on Sherlock’s hips and began to truly fuck him in earnest. Soon the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as Lestrade drove himself into Sherlock with utter abandon.

            And even as Lestrade worked up a sweat pummeling himself into the consulting detective’s arse, Sherlock mewled out choking pleas for more. The DI then yanked roughly on Sherlock’s hips to give himself a new angle as he straightened up and finally gave the younger man everything he had. He pounded into Sherlock like a man possessed, grunting harshly with the aggressive fervor of his exertions.

            “Yes, YES, _oh YES, THAT’S IT!”_ Sherlock yelled out.

            Lestrade kept his feverish thrusting up for another handful of minutes, his fingers clamped against Sherlock’s skin hard enough to surely leave bruises in the morning. Finally, with a ragged shout, Lestrade’s body stiffened as every nerve fiber he possessed coalesced into a jumbled bundle of white-hot orgasmic bliss. He shot off like a rocket, tensing every muscle in his body as he emptied himself into Sherlock. He groaned loudly as he rode through the tremors of his orgasm, supporting himself shakily on his elbows. Sherlock sighed deeply in sated satisfaction. As Lestrade got his wits back together, Sherlock made sure he had every detail of what the DI’s big cock felt like inside of him memorized. For this, lying beneath the man he’d come to care for in the most intimate way possible, was the very best feeling in all the world. And no matter what the future held, he would remember this moment until the very instant he drew his last breath.

            There was so much that could be said. Perhaps much that _should_ be. Yet it seemed oddly right to simply enjoy the moment in silence.

            When Lestrade pulled out and flipped exhaustedly onto his side, neither man immediately said anything. Instead they both enjoyed each other’s presence next to the other as they stared at the ceiling.

            Silently, the DI reached over and took Sherlock’s hand in his. Sherlock responded with an affectionate squeeze, his heart in his throat as he considered how much he’d miss the man beside him in the coming months. He blew out a harsh stuttering exhalation as his mind hovered on the verge of asking the DI to accompany him in his quest to dismantle Moriarty’s global regime.

            But no, he wouldn’t dare say those words now. Because while they might temporarily quell the pain that brimmed within the deepest secret depths of his being, he knew it would only open the door for even greater pain if something happened to the man during the complicated mission. He blinked as his eyes began to burn with the unfamiliar sensation of newly forming tears.

            What was the world coming to that he, Sherlock Holmes, was capable of weeping at the thought of not seeing the silver haired DI?

            _Caring is not an advantage, indeed._

He’d always despised displays of affection. Yet perhaps now, . . . he thought he might have understood a good deal better what they meant. There was a deeply buried part of him, part of him he barely even recognised that wanted to say the words, “I love you,” right then and there. Yet he bit back the words and merely squeezed the detective inspector’s hand again instead.

            Yet still, despite his best effort to quell the very thought from his mind, he wished he had the courage to tell the man how much he would miss him. Blinking away the tears that threatened to spill down his cheek, he turned his head to look at Lestrade.

            “I set you up a new email account. I shall send you a new message once a month. On the twenty-first. Be sure to always cloak your IP address before logging in. I want to take every precaution available to ensure my brother remains none the wiser about the true nature of relationship.”

            “What’s the email address?”

            Sherlock smiled smugly. “SexySilverFoxInTheYard@gmail.com“

            Lestrade laughed loudly. “You’re a right cheeky little bastard, you know that?”

            “So I’ve been told. By certain sexy silver foxes.”

            “I’m quite afraid to ask, but what is the password?”

            “I’ll leave that to you to figure out.”

            “What? It could be anything!”

             “Fine. I’ll give you a single clue. It has to do with sex.”

            Lestrade narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, Sherlock that _really_ narrows it down.”

            Sherlock cast him a look of pure self-satisfaction. “You’re the smartest man at Scotland Yard. I have faith you will prevail at figuring it out.”

            Lestrade snorted and rolled his eyes. “I can think of a few good ways to make you tell me, you know.”

            “Nope, my lips are sealed.”

            Lestrade gave Sherlock a sly grin, raising an eyebrow mischievously. He then quickly rolled over and claimed Sherlock’s mouth in a heated kiss, thrusting his tongue against Sherlock’s lips and quickly succeeding in making the consulting detective admit him access into the recesses of his mouth.

            The two men continued to kiss hungrily, Sherlock’s hands winding themselves around Lestrade’s muscled shoulders.

            “It would appear I’m quite skilled at loosening those lovely lips of yours,” Lestrade told him. Sherlock batted the DI playfully on the arm.

            “Only when I let you,” Sherlock asserted.

            Lestrade smiled broadly. “Yeah, which is always.”

            Sherlock sniffed in mock affront. “My, aren’t you the _cocky_ one?”

            “Cocky you say? Whatever makes you say that?”

            “My rather delightfully sore arse, that’s what.”

            Lestrade laughed uproariously and kissed Sherlock firmly on the cheek, wrapping his arms around the curly haired detective’s lean torso. Another companionable silence descended upon the pair. After several long minutes of quiet contemplation Sherlock said in the softest voice, “You know you can’t tell John.”

            “I know,” the DI said, a hint of sadness in his tone.

            “If you want someone’s confidence, you can speak to Molly,”

            “You told her about us?” Lestrade asked gently.

            “No. But I know she can be trusted. And I know she’d be happy to have you confide in her.”

            Lestrade let out a long and weary sigh. “I realise I’m stating the ridiculously obvious, but life really isn’t fair, is it?”

            “Indeed far from it.”

            Lestrade ran his hands through Sherlock’s curls affectionately. “Just . . . whatever happens, . . . just don’t go and do anything too stupid okay? Remember I won’t be there to get you out of trouble.”

            Sherlock pillowed his head on the DI’s broad chest and interlaced their fingers. “I’ll endeavor to keep myself in one piece.”

            “You’d better, because I’ll be counting on you to come back,” Lestrade said looking down and placing a kiss to the top of Sherlock’s head. He trailed off and the way he said his words Sherlock could hear that there was an implied _to me_ tacked on at the end of the sentence.

            Sherlock kissed the man’s chest in silent understanding and in an unspoken promise to return to this wonderfully amazing man who had become so much more than the mere friendly acquaintance that had allowed him into Scotland Yard on a trial basis nearly seven years ago. The two men lay in each others arms, comforted in each other’s solid presence against the other and eventually found sleep.

            Sherlock stirred in the grey light of morning. He watched the DI open his eyes as he shifted to get out of the bed.

            “This is really it then,” Lestrade murmured. He reached a hand out and laid it against Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock covered the DI’s hand with his own, reveling in the tender caress.

            “I’ll keep in touch,” Sherlock told him softly. He watched as Lestrade swallowed hard, staring at him deeply with his beautiful brown eyes. Sherlock gently moved the man’s hand to his lips and gave Lestrade’s knuckles a sound lingering kiss. Without another word he then released his grip and walked out of the room, all the while keenly aware of the DI’s sad gaze watching him go.

            It was without a doubt the singularly most difficult thing he had ever done. And he regretted every inch of distance that grew between them. When he reached the threshold of the bedroom door, something shattered inside of him. He stopped, shoulders squared.

            “I’m so very sorry, Greg. So very deeply excruciatingly sorry.”

           

 

 

 


End file.
